On The Care Of Magical Beasts
by Out of Custody
Summary: Paul thinks Hermione has him under her foot, Jake thinks she just really knows how to convince him


**When I was young(er) and innocent I read the books and really liked it... and then the films kind of destroyed my fantasy and so I turned from it. But I found this... and an outline to something else I _might_ look into (no promises) but I thought you could enjoy this. **

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**On The Care Of Magical Beasts**

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"Your woman…" Paul started, but stopped before he could elaborate further.

Jacob looked up from where he munched on his muffin – Emily made the best muffins in all of La Push, there was simply no denying it. The Alpha stuffed the last piece into his mouth, putting away the paper and wiping his hands in his jeans, before swallowing the chewed treat – giving the man his whole attention.

"What about her?" he asked conversationally.

It was no secret that Paul had never really liked Hermione. Paul didn't like people for a rule – at least not at first. He was an okay guy once he let people in and they had the chance to get to know him. But outsiders were always given a hard time – and despite the fact that Hermione had been living with him on the res for a year now that didn't mean Paul had warmed up to her in any way.

Jacob understood – but he also blamed the Elders, just a little. After all, with their horror stories of the Wand-Holders, how was anyone on the res supposed to form an opinion of his woman?

"She has you under her foot." The man finally stated after obviously having wrestled with himself internally. Jacob understood his hesitation – he was their Alpha now, after all, and talking about such things could always end up in sliding down the ranks. Jacob had, until now, resisted using this method, arguing – mainly with himself – that it would impair the pack's morale.

The man smiled thinking of his hellcat – his personal little spit-fire. It was true, Hermione stood up to him whenever she wouldn't take his behaviour (especially when he'd just come from another meeting with the Cullens – Bella and Nessie excluded – for example) and put her foot down. It usually escalated in shouting around the house and ended in a hot bout of sex in which, sometimes, she topped (but usually it was him, reasserting his position and ascertaining her that, while he belonged only to her, he was the man of the two of them and he loved her).

"I think, Paul, that there is a lot of dynamics between us that you don't really register." Which might also be for the best – he didn't fancy Paul knowing of his sexual encounters with his imprint.

"Jake!" the man countered, getting into the heat of what he perceived as an argument, "all she has to do is _touch_ you and you submit to her every will!" the older man argued.

"Do I?", he questioned, tilting his head, sincere.

Paul, sensing that he might win the discussion, got really into it: "Honestly, man, she's like… _your_ Alpha. If she wants you to do something that you don't want to, all that really suffices is a touch, nothing more and there you go, breaking from the pack and fulfilling that witch's desire."

That was not entirely untrue, he pondered. Hermione _did_ have a way of getting what she wanted – and normally she promised retribution for the chores he took over. And, also, usually the sign of 'promise of retribution' was nothing but a touch.

Sometimes it was the arm, a sign he usually converted into 'I get to make you climax with my fingers', or his cheek – 'Blow job', sometimes his leg, which was his favourite 'You get to choose' and, now and then, but secretly most coveted, his head, not far from his ear. He loved her to touch him there, and, during one of their more intimate encounters in which she'd experimented scratching him behind the ear, they'd found out that it was something like a short-fuse for his other brain.

She could arouse him with a scratch behind the ears and, well… he was a dog in heat when surrounded by the scent of his woman. Edward had found it most repulsive, Bella and Nessie had only smiled and hugged him happily.

"Paul, honestly, I will think about it, I'll step back a little and give my best to look at it from an objective side. But even then, I have to admit that I will let little come between me and her. Hermione could leave any moment and until the day she is bound to me – and even after that – I will do everything in my powers to make her stay here."

The man nodded, looking slightly crestfallen. Jacob smiled at him. "Honestly, man. Next time the pack is assembled at home, let me just show you to what it plays out, aye?"

Agreeing on the compromise, Paul nodded. Jacob leaned back.

"So… how are you and Rachel going?"

.

Hermione was in the kitchen when he came back, singing along to a French song that he could not possibly decipher the meaning of. But her voice – it was so pretty, so beautiful, rich and honeyed, especially when she spoke her mother-tongue.

Sneaking up behind her, he put his hands around her hips, swaying her in the rhythm, while she continued singing and sautéing the chicken in the pan – his mouth watered. He loved her chicken. Her free hand crept up, folding over his, as she finished their dinner. Putting it away and placing what she called a _Stasis-Charm_ over it, she turned, leaning on her tip toes, as she embraced him.

"Mmmh… hello, Jacob." She smiled into his shoulder.

"Hello, _dá_.", he responded, pulling her closer, nuzzling her neck. "I've missed you."

He could feel her smile against his skin. "We didn't see for a day and a night and you miss me already?" she teased, but leaned back, inspecting him closer – as if she didn't believe him.

 _If he ever found Ronald Weasley that prat better be religious – he would hate to kill someone without him having said his last prayers…_ But that was for another time.

Instead, he leaned in, touching his lips to her chastely. "I did, _dá_ , how could someone ever ask of me to be without you when you are literally the centre in my life that I orbit around?"

His witch, blushed, but smiled as she smoothed her hand over his jaw. "You say the cheesiest things, Mister Black."

He kissed her again. "Only for you, Miss Granger. I wouldn't be able to trust anyone else with that particular secret of mine."

She smiled in his arms, resting her forehead against his. "Your secret is safe with me, dear sir."

Smirking he bent down, capturing her lips once more applying just the slightest more pressure, passing his intent. The curly haired witch moaned, pressing up against him – it appeared that, despite all her teasing, she hadn't missed him any less.

One of his hands wandered from her hip to her behind, pulling her closer still, pressing her front against his, their sexes, separated by _too damn many layers of clothing_ , touching – his erection was raging, he knew it. But he had an appetite for his woman that was unequalled by any of his pack-members, he knew. Moaning, she burrowed her right hand in his hair, lightly scratching his scalp – _gods, yes_ , he loved it. Lifting her, he deposited her safely on the working counter, taking care of balancing her on the edge, close enough to him and far enough away from anything that could fall. He wanted to make love to his woman, not destroy the house.

"Jake…"

Damn it. Growling he attacked her neck, needing to restate his claim over her – he knew that beneath her carefully applied _Glamours_ there were tons of marks already, but marking her never failed to get a rise out of him. Drawing a hissing breath, she encased his hips with her legs, pulling him closer still.

"Please…" she whined softly, her hands scratching down the back, leaving no marks through his shirt – yet (she'd literally shredded one of his shirts once, unfortunately she repaired it afterwards and he couldn't keep it as a trophy).

"Everything you want, witchling." He growled sweetly, his hands flying as he opened her sensible blouse. Jesus all he ever wanted was her damn clothing _off._ By now he was an expert in opening buttons single-handedly, Hermione, it seemed, only ever wore blouses, or his shirts, and skirts. Damn she liked to wear skirts during like _every season and weather_ – not that he was complaining, honestly.

Finally able to peel the garment off his woman, he relished in finding that, today, she had forgone wearing a bra. Growling lowly in his throat, he bent, touching the milky orbs with his lips, lavishing them with his tongue. A low whine tore out of her throat as she clawed at his shirt.

Getting the hint, he nearly ripped it off himself, returning to attacking her lips, caressing her breasts with his hands. They were so small, so lithe and, despite repeating himself, damn if he didn't love that. Flicking his thumbs over her nipples, he smirked proudly when he felt them pucker.

Hell, if he wasn't a lucky bastard, then he didn't know either.

Bending again, he sucked one of her reddened nipples into his mouth, rolling his tongue over it, suckling it gently. Hermione flexed her hands on his back, repeating a circle of clawing his back and flattening her hands against it.

"Jake, please. A day and a night…" she reminded him, almost pained.

He chuckled, amused by her impatience, but secretly glad to find that her need for him mirrored his desire for her. Shedding his jeans in a swift move and her skirt almost in the same movement, he pulled her closer to the counter edge and, not even giving her a moment to think, inserted a finger.

Hermione, in front of him, closed her eyes, frowning as she moaned high-pitched – a moan of satisfaction he knew. The closer she got, the higher they would get until, reaching the brink, she'd simply stare, wide-eye and open mouthed, not a sound escaping, before ecstasy claimed her.

"So wet, my pretty little bitch…" he growled huskily, licking the underside of her jaw with a sensual stroke.

She didn't complain – whined instead, her inner muscles flexing in way of reaction – and for that, he was grateful. He couldn't always help himself when the wolfish side decided to kick through and really, the b-word was used more like an endearment in moments like these. Hermione was, after all, his chosen mate, the one and only in his life. Pumping in and out of her, he licked and bit her skin, his marks showing as she lost control over her charms the more distracted she got. Her scent, the headier it got, was intoxicating him, driving him to the brink almost on its own accord and he could feel the first drops of his seed leak out of him.

Hermione's hands were on him almost instantly, carefully fondling, caressing. He latched onto her shoulder, alternating between biting softly and sucking, in gratitude as she re-acquainted him with her touch. He knew he would have come if he would have entered her that moment, he was so close. But Hermione… well his hellcat wasn't shy of any sorts (save, perhaps, for her war-scars, but he'd made her pay for hiding them from him – he loved them, her, unconditionally) and she was a book-worm to boot, their library was a testament to that, and she'd studied the subject, she had applied all her wisdom to him.

And, he knew he'd said it before, he was a damn lucky bastard for this.

Pressing a hidden spot between his erection and his scrotum, he felt the need to empty himself diminish slowly until it was near to gone. Dislodging his mouth from her shoulder where, already, a deep purple mark bloomed (she bruised so easily) he relocated to her mouth, kissing her deeply as he removed his fingers, using his hands instead to pull her closer.

She whimpered sensually in her throat as he nudged her. The contact was gratifying, stimulating, and he knew, as always, that he would draw it out just a little. He was a fan of the tension during the moment in which he was so close to her, but not yet engaged in the act fully.

Hermione wasn't.

Tugging his hair a little sharply, she whined again and, finally, he sunk into her – a satisfied groan, one falling from two mouths, filled the kitchen, and for another moment he simply rested within her, buried to the hilt, relishing in the feeling of her hot sleeve around his pulsating member, before he started moving.

Slowly he retracted, then pushed back in, leaving her to take over the caresses, the kisses. She bestowed them unto him with abandon, rolling her hips, taking him in, her breathing quickening, her arms and feet tightening.

It was a slow-build up, Jacob made sure of that, he was so careful in his handling of her, it almost annoyed him (because, spirits, he just wanted to _lose_ himself in her, rut like a wild animal and spill – but there'd be time for that later). Yet, as the first contractions rippled through her, it was almost too early.

She moaned again, almost a whine, moving her hips more forcefully, more driven and he leant back taking in the picture of his woman on fire – her eyes were wide open, staring into his golden ones and just as it hit, just as she fell over the brink, her mouth dropped and she leant towards him, her whole body clenched around him, drawing him nearer, into her, her arms locking him to her, as did her legs and with a silent, unheard scream, she came, her essence coating him, her shocks rippling over him.

It was almost too much as he came, still within her, locked to her, fused to her. Cradling her close, he mimicked her quick breathing unconsciously, and, as they parted, him slipping out of her, kissed her brow first, her eyes, her cheeks, and finally her lips – so red and so swollen from his kisses.

She was so wonderful a person, so delightfully everything that he wanted, so desirably and undeniably _his_.

.

"Paul is convinced you have me under control.", he said jokingly as they ate, her feet in his lap. Chewing carefully, his woman cocked her head, swallowing before she spoke.

"As in… I am your Alpha?"

Jacob raised a brow. "Did he talk to you?"

His witch shook his head. "He projected his thoughts last time he was around, it was hard to block him out. I nearly hexed him for the things he called me." She ground.

The American sneered. "I'll have a word with him-"

But his woman was faster. Shaking her head, she pressed her heels into his lap, forcing him to stay put, lest he wanted her to kick out (she'd done it before… once, but nothing vital was injured, she just had a vicious kick).

"No… I have a much better idea."

He sat, ready to listen. Whenever she got that glint in her eyes, it usually promised nothing good for the concerned subject.

.

It was Hermione's turn to cater to the pack.

Ever since she had moved in with Jake, the women, relieved, had asked her to figure out a schedule with them, to avoid _one_ of them taking the brunt of the cooking every time. Therefore, Emily would take them Monday and Friday, Rachel Tuesday and Thursday, and Hermione would take them Wednesday and, when they had patrol, Saturday. Sundays were family affairs and therefore the pack-members would split up to go to their respective families to eat.

Paul sat at the far end of the table, as far away from Hermione as virtually possible, but the witch, it seemed was not very touched by that behaviour. Seth, Jacob's Beta, sat not too far away from her, enjoying her idle prattle about this or that, and Embry would now and then start a discussion with the spirited woman, who could hold her own against the one they jokingly called 'Silver Tongue' now and then.

The older man could barely look at the scene. There he'd gone out of his way to tell Jacob of his concerns and the man simply ran back to this… wench, this whore, and forgot every word he'd spoken

In his silent seething he missed the smirk of the witch his anger was directed at as her eyes swept over him.

.

"Jake, could you get some more salad from the kitchen please?", she asked kindly meeting her mate's eyes over the table. They'd made sure that there would be a certain shortage of salad on the table (by giving a little less and eating a little more of it, a commitment especially for Jacob who loved his meat above anything else, save Hermione) for their code not to be recognized as one.

Like a true actor, he frowned, looking at the almost empty bowl and then at Hermione, before he pulled a face. "Can't you-?" he asked, but Hermione was already shaking her head.

"No, we agreed on this – me the cooking, you the fetching. The washing does itself." She argued back. Around them the room grew strangely silent when the fine ears of the pack picked up on the annoyed tone the woman directed at their Alpha.

"Please?", he asked. "I'm just exhausted, this time, really."

He had the whine down to pat, she had to give him that much, but, again, she shook her head, before she bent, ever so carefully, over the table, Jacob mimicked her and – for the split of a moment – it looked as if the situation would clearly get heated, before Hermione reached up and, skilfully, scratched Jacob behind the ears.

The game was over – this time, Jacob didn't even have to feign his reaction. Every man of the pack _knew_ that the ears, damn the ears were _sensitive_. Not only their hearing was more accurate due to their wolf, but like every good dog, each and every one of them liked to be scratched behind the ears.

However, there was a difference between the men and Jacob: they were much too proud to ask their women and wives to actually scratch them behind the ears because they like it (it was not very becoming to give in to baser needs after all; they were grown men, they were above that) and Jacob never even had to ask, Hermione had found out all on her own.

A pleasant groan signalled the defeat of Jacob Ephraim Black. As she retracted her hands with a last stroke down his jaw, her index and fore-finger stroking over the underside of his chin – right where the submissive wolf licked, the whole room held their breaths, damn that woman knew her way around wolves – the young man glared at her.

"You know what that means…", he growled before standing, towering over her.

The minx had the audacity to smirk. "Retribution – as always, dear. Now please… the salad."

As the men parted from the pair that evening, there was a unanimous, if silent, agreement that Jacob Black was the single most luckiest man on the whole reservoir to have a woman so deeply understanding him.

Paul, the last one to leave, looked at the pair standing in the door, wishing them goodbye – his eyes darted from one to the other, before he finally opened his mouth, and, very silently, Hermione almost didn't hear it, apologized for saying what he'd said. Jacob only nodded, Hermione smiled.

As he turned his back on them, he could hear the soft touching of lips.

"You demanded retribution, noble sir?" he heard her voice, deeper, huskier – sultry. Jacob, he imagined, smirked, there was a 'hn' he could clearly distinguish from the night-sounds.

"Ma'am, you promised me only the best kind." He replied – they vanished inside their house.

Paul sighed, defeated.

If Rachel would scratch him behind his ears?

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 **Hope you liked it or found it at least tolerable ;b  
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 **Review either way, please**


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